Crimson Lullaby
by Nadare
Summary: A dark room. A victim. A psychopath with a knife. This won't end well. Farfarello centric fic, bit dark. Previously Uploaded.


_Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from. Really. It depicts a scene of Farfarello from Weiss Kreuz torturing and killing a woman. Obviously doing a job for Schwartz though I have no idea who or why._

[Written on Oct. 9, 2002; Edited 8/12/15]

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Weiss Kreuz. Just psychotic muses apparently.  
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 _ **"Crimson Lullaby"**_

The room is dark, and if you look hard enough, you can see shapeless shadows forever shifting in the gloom. I spend a lot of time cloaked in darkness so I do have a habit of noticing these things.

In the middle of the dank room lies a body. It is not a surprise to me. In fact, I have been expecting it for the last few hours. A mind gains consciousness, and eyes open. Within a moment, I am moving. Mustn't let this chance get away. I tasted failure last time, and didn't fancy the bitter taste of it.

I straddle the body beneath me, wrapping one arm around my victim's throat. The pale skin is soft and silky, and without an Adam's apple. My lips shift, and I feel a smirk come over my mouth. It has been a while since I had female flesh under mine. Most, if not all, of the victims I have encountered have been men. I lower my head and lick the side of her neck, teeth glazing the skin lightly. Wouldn't want to scare her...at least not yet.

She whimpers rather loudly, and I find myself annoyed at the sound. Without warning, I grab a handful of her long black hair roughly and forcefully shove her face into the cement floor beneath us. The sweet metallic taste of blood enters the air, and I relish the aroma before raising her head to assess the damage. A scrape, nothing more.

Blood begins to drip down her face, and I move forward to sit on the small of her back. I bend over her and lick one side of her face completely clean. The blood is deliciously tainted with fear, and I slide my tongue over my lips eagerly. I like. It is not often I find things to my liking. I stand, turning the warm body beneath me over and rest on my knees over her stomach.

I lean down, capturing her mouth with my own. The women below me is passive at first then as I delve my tongue into her, she bites my lower lip. Though I feel blood drip down my chin, pain is nowhere to be found. A gift though sometimes a curse. At rare times, I am too far gone to realize how much blood I have lost.

The women's green eyes grow wide when she realizes I am in no pain whatsoever. I grin at her after pulling away.

"You will help me hurt God." Frantically, she shakes her head, and tries to move but the drugs she has been given earlier allow her no such freedom. I cackle wickedly as I pull out one of my knives. "When Crawford wants someone erased, he leaves nothing to chance."

This does not put the woman at ease. Odd. Who wouldn't want to help me hurt God?

Almost gently, I nuzzle her neck then I feel my lips quirk as I ram my knife deep in her chest. I push upwards until I feel the handle become slick with hot liquid.

The woman beneath me quakes, and I watch gleefully as bubbles of blood push their way out of her suddenly ashen lips. Her body goes limp after what seems like an eternity. I slide off her, and kneel beside her head. I nudge closer, catching her dying gaze. Hatred springs to life in those depths yet quickly fades as pain overcomes them.

Dying is not nearly as swift and neat as it is in the movies. I have pierced her heart. It is a relatively quick way to die all things considered. Within a moment, blood will stop pumping into the valves of the vital organ.

Her breath hitches, and the eyes I am so closely observing grow cold. Devoid of life.

I am positive God is hurt. With a smug smile, I give my victim one last kiss than then stand.

Neutral eyes watch me from a corner, and I raise my hand, putting the bloodstained knife near my mouth. I lick the knife thoroughly, giggling as I see Crawford suppress a shudder. He pretends he doesn't fear me but I know better. He tolerates me only because I have my talent for feeling next to no pain, and no conscience whatsoever. In short, I am the perfect assassin.

"I see the pits of Hell in your eyes, Bradley Crawford. How will you feel when swimming in a lake of fire?" He offers me no reply as I walk out the door. My job was done successfully. I will receive no punishment. God is crying as his forsaken one lives in comfort.

"I won't be without company," Crawford whispers softly.

 _THE END_


End file.
